


Corsage

by MermaidMayonnaise



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Humor, M/M, Strapping, how do these two things fit together? you ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMayonnaise/pseuds/MermaidMayonnaise
Summary: John wants to spice up their sex life and doesn’t know how. Fortunately, the Pegasus Galaxy has a spectacular sense of humor.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	Corsage

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the marvelous larrylashton98. I'm sorry I keep making you suffer through my jokes--at least everyone else has a _choice._

Sex with Rodney should’ve been weird. John felt like their relationship should’ve changed somehow after they’d started fucking, but their interactions were basically the same. John couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed, but now since most of his tendencies to bounce off the walls due to sexual frustration were now abated, he didn’t think about it much.

Rodney didn’t surprise John during sex anymore, once John got used to the fact that he and Rodney McKay were exchanging _sexual favors,_ which was a concept that he thought that he’d never have to voice _._

Rodney’s porn noises were eerily reminiscent to when he ate sugary foods--or, strangely, bagels. Rodney had a weird attraction to bagels. John felt like he should’ve been offended since he was being booted out of first place whole wheat, but a) that was just plain weird and b) the obsession that Rodney had with sucking John’s neck could _not_ be healthy or indicative of some other competition taking place between John and, say, bread.

The point was that John needed to spice up their sex life and didn’t know how. Fortunately, the Pegasus Galaxy had a spectacular sense of humor.

It happened as it always did: on one of the first contact missions. Ronon and Teyla were with them, which was unfortunate because they could easily have stopped what happened next and didn’t. 

Before they walked through the stargate and entered the planet’s thickly wooded forest, John and his team had a nice little briefing with Carter. They were informed that the only reference to PY4-874 in the database was that the indigenous people grew an especially virile sort of grain. Their technology level was minimal: slightly higher than the Stone Age but lower than Advanced Enough To Have Invented Toasters.

Which was why it was such a surprise when they entered the planet--standard procedure, greeted the natives, explained vaguely where they came from (“Atlantis? What Atlantis?”)--and then John ducked behind the trees for a simple piss and a bunch of armed people sprung on him while he had his dick halfway out of his blue striped boxers. For crying out loud.

“Uh,” John said, hand down his pants, “this isn’t what it looks like?”

The natives (armed with bows and arrows) trucked John back to his group in disgrace. Teyla merely raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow (Lorne somehow achieved god status among the women in terms of manicures) at the sight of John, because this wasn’t the first time aliens had singled him out as a threat. The hair was often cited as an incitant.

“What now?” Rodney groaned.

The leader of the natives wore a feather headdress and an incredibly disappointed expression when John was dragged in front of her and forced onto his knees.

“Let me guess, we looked like such nice people at first,” John guessed. One of the natives poked him with a very sharp arrow. “Ow!”

For their credit, John’s team was incredibly calm. “What reparations will we have to undergo for this crime?” Teyla asked the leader. She looked bored.

“The transgressor will have to come with me. Your friend has shown blatant disrespect for our culture--”

“I was just going for a piss,” John said unhappily. “You guys haven’t invented indoor plumbing yet.”

“--and now he will have to undergo a simple punishment.”

“What kind of punishment?” Ronon asked. He was sharpening his knives, which was unfair as it was a blatantly aggressive action, and the natives didn’t go after _him._

“Does it matter?” Rodney interrupted brusquely, then addressed the leader. “You need someone to oversee or administer the punishment, correct?” The leader nodded. “Can it be me?” Another nod, although she looked hesitant. “Perfect. Let’s go, Sheppard.”

“I will lead you to the punishment room,” the leader said unhappily. _Sounds sexy,_ John thought, equally unhappily. “Are you sure that you wouldn’t prefer one of my people to do it? They’re very capable.”

Rodney rolled their eyes. “Eager, more like it. This entire galaxy is kinkier than… well, I’m not sure how you’d understand A/B/O dynamics, but something along those lines.” Teyla assumed a horrified expression in the background. Rodney ignored her and gestured towards the woods. “Show us the way, I guess.”

The leader led them down the path demarcated in stones until they reached a small village. “This is the punishment hut. Please follow me inside.” She turned towards Teyla and Ronon. “The rest of my people can provide you with refreshments and discuss a trade deal. That is what you came for?”

“Yes,” Teyla said. “John, please do not aggravate the natives further.” 

John said, “Aren’t you worried about what my punishment is going to be?”

“Not particularly,” said Ronon. “This has happened too many times before. McKay can handle you.”

“Aw,” said Rodney, oddly touched.

Rodney and John watched as the rest of the natives lowered their bows and began happily chatting with Teyla and Ronon.

“There is no justice,” said Rodney, seeing brightly colored sweets being passed around.

“You volunteered,” John said grumpily. “I still have to go to the bathroom.”

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” said the leader, and together they entered the hut, everyone ducking through the low doorframe except for John, who hit the top of his head and swore colorfully. 

The inside was bigger than it seemed. Part of the floor was dug out, and they descended the stairs and looked at what was inside.

“Um,” Rodney started and stopped, which was a first for him.

There was a single table in the center of the floor. It was normal in every way, except it had grooves on one end and handholds on the other. The walls made of wood--probably a variation of pine, by the dripping residue --and were covered with whips and leather straps of various sizes.

“Oh my,” said John, who on Earth had never gone into one of those shops, and was fervently grateful. He wondered if it was overkill to put one hand over his heart like a maiden in distress.

Unexpectedly, Rodney said, “Are these for sale?” John, eyes wide, hit him. “I’m just _saying,_ I’d make a fortune on Atlantis’ black market! Zelenka, that squirrely Czech bastard, would pay through the _nose--”_

“Tell me this isn’t what I think this is,” John begged the leader.

“You will get on the table and endure twenty straps from the item of your choosing,” she said. 

John wanted to die. Looking a little more excited about beating the shit out of John than he should’ve, Rodney asked, “Is this really necessary?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the leader said firmly. “I’ll give you some privacy, but one other witness and I will be listening for the twenty strokes from the outside.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rodney asked John, who shrugged at him helplessly.

The leader pulled out the biggest gun John had ever seen out of her jacket, which did not bode well with the previous glimpses of their technology at _all._ “Let me rephrase,” she said kindly. “If you do not comply with our terms, I’ll be forced to resort to violence.”

“There’s really no need,” Rodney said hurriedly. “John, get on the table.”

“Aw, man,” John said. He wondered if it would be childish to kick the table.

“No clothes,” the leader gently warned. “As soon as you remove your clothing, I’ll leave.”

John, seeing no choice, kicked off his boots, shucked his BDUs, tac vest, and undershirt. 

“Underclothes too.” The leader stroked her gun in a disturbing way.

“This can’t be right,” John said, removed his underwear and angrily tossed it to the side. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she answered, scanning John up and down and mainly fixating on the wristband. “We’ll be listening.” She left.

John, angry and also kind of humiliated, turned around to see Rodney’s cocked head. “Are you checking out my _ass?”_

“Absolutely not,” Rodney said, not removing his eyes from just below John’s torso. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” John said, getting on the table. “Pervert.”

Rodney went over to the wall like he was browsing an art show. “What do you want?”

John’s ass was exposed and also freezing. “Whatever you want. Just don’t choose a whip.”

Rodney selected a leather strap from the wall and said, “I’m not going to hit you hard, just loud enough to make a noise.” 

John nodded. He situated himself facedown so he was bent horizontally, torso up over the table while his bare feet rested on the floor. The groves allowed his hips and cock to fit comfortably against the wood. “How convenient,” John grumbled. “I sure hope this is sanitized.”

Rodney, who was in the middle of untangling the strap and finding its handle, said, “What?”

“Nothing,” John answered, gripping the handholds. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Do I have your consent?”

“You have my enthusiastic consent,” John heaved a sigh. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“For the record, this isn’t the direction I expected our sex life to go,” Rodney said from behind him. 

John went to respond, and then Rodney smacked him with the strap right below his ass. “Jesus Christ!” John yelled.

“Oh my god, you big baby,” Rodney grumbled. “I didn’t even hit you _that_ hard.”

John grit his teeth and said, “Rodney, remember the Golden Rule--if our places were switched, how hard would you like me to hit you?”

“Fine,” Rodney said. His next was barely more than a tap. The leather slithered sadly down John’s thighs and onto the floor.

If John’s hands weren’t clenched on the handholds, he would have smacked his forehead. “Rodney, aren’t you always going on about how you’re so kinky? Haven’t you ever _done_ this before?”

John couldn’t see him, but he could imagine Rodney was tapping his chin. “Hm, now that you mentioned it, I vaguely remember a time when Samantha Carter asked me--of _course_ not, you moron!”

“You said that you’re a quick learner!”

“I’m doing my best!” Rodney yelled while strapping him right on the ass. “There! How do you like _that?”_

John didn’t like it at all. He said so and included multiple expletives.

“That’s two!” the leader said from outside.

“Shut up!” John and Rodney both yelled.

Rodney sighed behind him. “Okay, listen. We have eighteen more to go. I was thinking we do three sets of six with small breaks in between. Then this’ll go faster, you’ll stop complaining, and we’ll get to go home.”

“Fine,” John said, manfully ignoring the pain. 

“On the count of three,” Rodney said. “One, two, three--”

The first of the set was firm yet tentative. Rodney built them up in force over the six. By the last stroke, John’s ass and thighs didn’t appreciate the situation. 

“That’s round one,” Rodney said, sounding slightly out of breath. 

John was breathing a little hard too. He’d closed his eyes on the second stroke when he felt his cock, against all odds, hardening against the table.

“Are you alright?” Rodney asked. “Do you need anything? A glass of water? Your dignity, perhaps?”

“Shut up,” John said without heat. He clenched the handholds tightly, then asked: “Can you talk to me while you’re… y’know?”

“I mean--” Rodney said, and made a sound like he was scuffing the ground with his boot. “I, ah--okay. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” John said, fighting the sudden terrible urge to rub his hips against the table to get friction. “Anything.”

So for the next six, Rodney used the same method of increasing the force over the set and talked the whole time. John panted openly now. Each stroke left a line of fire across his ass or thighs, and his cock was fully hard. Every time Rodney smacked him, John’s hips jerked against the table--and he found out the material wasn’t quite wood, but something with a little more give so that John could comfortably grind on it. Rodney blathered on in the background, talking about recent power fluctuations or whatever, and then right before the sixth stroke, he stopped.

John, who’d been bracing for it, absolutely did not whine. This was pain, which he decidedly did _not_ like. He didn’t like the sure and firm and continuous way that Rodney belted him. He didn’t like the way his body zinged more and more with each progressive stroke, and he didn’t like the way his mind was drifting and becoming blank. Pleasantly blank.

“--do you hear me? Are you even listening?” Rodney was saying in the background. “Wait. Did you just _moan?”_

“No,” John groaned. “Finish the set, Rodney. Do it.”

Rodney did. He walloped him. John felt his whole body reverberate.

“You _like_ this,” Rodney said, amazed. “You’re getting _off_ on this.”

“No way,” John said, drifting. He was beyond the pain now. There was only pleasure warming his body. It was exquisite. 

“Your ass is bright red,” Rodney noted.

“Jesus Christ, just finish this off,” John said. Rodney was harshing his vibe, and John desperately needed to--do _something._

Rodney smacked him twice, off-rhythm. The next one hit lightly, landing dangerously close to the bottom of John’s ass. It was so close to his balls. It was so close to his cock.

John moaned again. He tried to hold it in. He really did.

“Oh my god,” Rodney said, voice cracking, “you look so hot. Do you know how hot you look right now?”

He strapped John three times consecutively, hard. John knew this was the end and counted each one out: he wasn’t sure if he said them out loud or not. He was making too many other noises to really be sure. Right before the very last stroke, John rubbed his cock against the sort-of table, tensed, and when the strap hit in a white-hot blaze, he jerked against the table and came.

When he returned to himself, he heard the soft, slick, and unmistakable sounds of someone jerking off. He lifted his head blearily off the table and saw the leather strap on the ground and Rodney’s hand on his cock. Rodney met John’s gaze. His face and cock were very red.

“Is that your thing?” John asked him, just to be an asshole. “Hurting other people?”

“No,” Rodney panted. “Apparently what gets me off is watching them like it.”

“Oh,” John said intelligently after a significant pause and watched Rodney’s eyebrows furrow and mouth open slightly as he came into his hand. “I see.”

Rodney stood still for a few seconds, then returned to himself brusquely and started searching for wipes in his tac vest. “Alright, that’s done.” The search came up empty, and he rooted through John’s abandoned one instead. “Let’s go home.”

“You’re a master of diplomacy,” John said, vaguely hurt that it took Rodney so little time to recover. His head was undergoing the interesting dichotomy of feeling like it was empty and stuffed with cotton simultaneously. He tried to stand up and almost fell over. 

“Let’s get you into your clothes,” Rodney suggested.

“My ass hurts,” John complained halfheartedly. It was somewhat more difficult than he expected to be coherent.

“We’ll go to the infirmary when we get back and have an extremely embarrassing conversation with Keller,” Rodney said. “Meanwhile, try not to sit on anything.” 

John still felt very floaty. “Hm.”

They stumbled out of the cabin a few minutes later, having cleaned up the slight mess with a couple of tissues, wipes, and one extremely unfortunate undershirt. They reunited with Ronon and Teyla, who waited a respectful distance away.

“You might wanna sanitize the table,” John slurred to the leader.

“What?” said Ronon and Teyla, then visibly decided that it wasn’t worth their time. Their lips were stained purple and green from the candy. They tossed some to Rodney, who deftly caught them to John’s surprise. John kind of wanted to ask the natives for some himself, but was scared of their feathers.

“Nothing out of the ordinary happened,” Rodney said quickly. He was the only thing keeping John upright but trying extremely hard to be inconspicuous about it. After the other two had walked ahead, he hissed to the leader, “But seriously, do you people know what sanitation is?” 

“We have the situation in hand,” she assured them.

“I have a pack of Clorox in my pack,” said John.

“Thank you, very helpful--except for the small fact that we already _used it,”_ Rodney hissed to him despite being in the process of patting his head. He turned to the leader. Then, “Do you?”

“Goodbye, Doctor McKay,” she said firmly and ushered them out of the village.

“Bye,” John said. He hoped that Teyla and Ronon were able to secure the grain, but he discovered that he didn’t care as much as he should have. He whined petulantly to Rodney, “Can we go home now?”

“Sure,” Rodney said, his body shaking a little. John realized that he was trying not to laugh, and John despised him. “My god, you’re so out of it.”

“Am not.” Rodney unwrapped a piece of candy and gave it to John. John immediately changed his mind about hating Rodney. “I love you.”

“I think I broke you.” Rodney shook his head in wonderment. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

“You sure do know how to treat your date right,” John said. He was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to sit correctly for a week: which sucked, but at least he got what he wished for. “Next time I want a corsage.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the stupidest thing I have ever written. I laughed the entire time.


End file.
